Thereâs been a fair few threads on here lately knocking Gwars. Being a gentleman of this persuasion, I canât pretend to be happy about it because Iâm not. Being ginnog is not a crime, nor is it the slur on mankind that some would have you believe and I wanted to put the record straight. The thing is, you unlucky types who arenât blessed with the freckle gene are all scared and jealous of us ginwars. Itâs as simple as that. Itâs the age old story, when confronted with something superior that you donât quite understand, you ânormalâ people (Your words, not mine) fear us. This fear can manifest itself in a number of ways. Bullying, insults, jokes, holding your nose as we pass. All mechanism to deal with the fact that youâre frightened of the russet ones that walk among you. It all boils down to the fact that your frightened and react in a similar manner to a cornered rat. Its fear and lack of moral fibre and because of this most ginger-nuts-types have become used to the bullying and ended up being as hard as nails. Itâs a similar story with ladies, they stay away in droves, not understanding that a copper-top has feelings too. A few brave lassâs come forward, more out of pity than anything else I suspect, and I did spot an opportunity here. As Iâm sure youâre all aware, Iâm quite a formidable swordsman and I discovered early on the laydeeâs, whilst being a little scared, have a naughty fascination with my copper locks. Itâs almost like they have a check list of things to do before they die or something and doing the dirty boogie with a Duracell gent is on that list somewhere. Letâs call them curiosity shags, shall we? I long ago decided that curiosity shags were better than no shags at all and went for it with an enthusiasm sadly lacking from my military career. Due to the inherent fear which characterises our dealing with so-called civilised society, I have been fortunate enough to take advantage of many ladiesâ who were curious. Spotting this for what it was, I made sure that I was worth a jump (hey, I even bought a book to show where the clitoris is. Guyâs, it DOES exist!!), I allowed the rumours of my rust-stained bayonet skills to circulate, and the results certainly paid off. I have also on my travels met three different ladies who actually liked the rusty fuse wire look (as opposed to being simply curious) and of course I made hay while the sun shone with all three of those. I have taken an amber-haired lady to my bed in the past. It was magnificent, looking down during the main event to see our matching pubic shades merge was a truly beautiful moment (truth be told, it actually reduced both of us to near hysterical laughter) and feasting from her twiglet scented flower later on has become a memory I treasure. We decided not to breed, as we were all too aware of the hostility that a totally pale and pasty family would doubtless endure from the so-called ânormal peopleâ. Itâs not all been tender moments of snatched passion. It appears that bigotry has found a final target, one that society is happy to endorse. Singled out by Broken Britain, it would appear that the long-established cultural adversaries have found a common enemy. Day by day the taunts grow louder. The shop keeper eyeâs us with distrust. The bus driver makes us use special seats at the back. There is some debate as to weather or not we should be allowed to vote. New Labour has created a future that is indeed bleak for the carrot top. Will the change to Con-Dem politick change this? I watch the news at night, hoping to hear that Mick Hucknall has been named Minister of Strawberry Blonde, or that Susan Sarandon has been appointed UN Special Envoy to Autumn Gold. I think I wait in vain. To summarise, I feel that your treatment of Gwar is underlined by your primeval fear of the unknown, combined with the certain knowledge that you are in someway inferior to us. Itâs not your fault you fear us, itâs hardwired into your genetic make up and in time you will learn to accept our colour and scent as the magnificent gift to mankind that is truly is.